


Teaghlach

by ListenLyss



Category: Bones (TV), Bones RPF
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Autistic character (Zack), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sensory Overload
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-04-22 15:25:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14311671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ListenLyss/pseuds/ListenLyss
Summary: Teaghlach - From Old Irish teglach (“household, family, following”). Akin to both teach (“house”) and slua (“army; crowd”).Various One-Shots of times that the Jeffersonian staff was like a family. There may be possible spoilers for seasons which I will make appearances in the notes for the chapter.I’ll be taking any requests and I’ll be doing a one-shot for every character I count as Major (including Squinterns).





	1. One - Temperance Brennan

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter contains spoilers for Chapter 3, nothing major, just a character.

Doctor Temperance Brennan had been up for what seemed like hours scanning through the bones of a mysterious victim with her assistant, Zack Addy. The case wasn’t anything too particular, there were no marks of serial killers but rather a strange cause of death. Well, the cause of death itself wasn’t all that unusual as it was most certainly due to a fracture to the cranium, with the victim suffering from osteogenesis imperfecta the force needed to create the comminuted rupture would not be much, but the weapon that caused the breach was like nothing the two doctors had seen before. That, of course, wasn’t until Brennan had Sweets, Booth and Zack come with her to investigate the murder scene once more.

“Dr. Brennan, I think you need to see this.” Zack held a small object in his hand, a wooden chess piece, the black queen to be exact.

Brennan walked with a careful step over to her young assistant; she plucked the piece from his hands, it had been neatly polished compared to the other parts in the chess set, implying it had been cleaned recently.

“Very good, Zack, a chess piece would match the Maplewood particulates we found inside the comminuted fracture on the victim’s forehead as well as the stain that Hodgins identified in the wound.” Brennan flicked on her blacklight as Dr. Sweets walked over nonchalantly.

“If they used the queen as a murder weapon it could be symbolic--” Sweets analyzed, looking at the board that the murdering queen had presumably come from, he squinted at it for a moment before reaching over to steal a pair of gloves from Zack’s pocket.

“This queen isn’t from this set.” Zack analyzed “All of the other pieces in the set are made of wood, this is made of plastic.”

“That would explain why there are no traces of blood on this queen,” Brennan said, taking the light off of the piece and placing it back in a perfect place.

“So wait, hang on there squints, you’re trying to tell me a chess piece killed our victim, and it came from this board here but was replaced with a plastic piece? How do you kill someone with a chess piece, it’s barely the size of my pinky finger.” Booth grabbed the plastic piece for himself and held it up to his pinky for comparison.

“That’s because the victim fell onto the piece, we all assumed he was stabbed in the head, he fell onto the queen chess piece… Wait, the black king has been replaced.” Brennan picked up the king for closer examination; it too was replaced.

“I know who murdered Jeremiah McNeil,” Booth announced without any further explanation, he took off on foot to his vehicle followed by two squints and a shrink.

With that, they found the murderer, a chess player who was having an affair with the victim. In the victim’s home, they had overlooked the bed frame, on the two posts at the end of a bed sat a king and a queen, with a flick of the flashlight it revealed blood on the queen that trailed in a horrible smear to the ground.

Hours later, after the interrogation and arrest of one Judy Hopkins, Booth, Brennan and Sweets were all making their way out of the building to enjoy a nice weekend in complete solitude. Sweets talked briefly of his plans to marathon through at one or two seasons of the X-Files that night before Booth shut him up with a “look, that’s nice Sweets, but a real weekend is sitting down with a beer and watching a game.”

The three crammed themselves into the elevator; Sweets was checking his phone as Brennan pressed the button for the first floor.

“There’s some storm out tonight.” Sweets muttered, trying to have some pleasant small-talk with his peers as he scrolled through weather updates on his phone.

“That’s great, means I get a weekend of staying alone in my home with the television on with two beers in my beer hat and my sports jersey on, eh?” Booth nudged Sweets “Good Ol’ fashion manly fun.”

They all sat in silence for a moment before the lights in the car went out, and the moving elevator skidded to a stop, the only light came from the emergency call button in the lift. Booth promptly threw his hands in the air in disbelief.

“Great, now we’re stuck in an elevator in a power outage.” Booth groaned “I blame Sweets for jinxing us.”

“The term jinxing is a completely made up and completely coincidental phenomenon; no scientific evidence suggests that saying something will make the opposite happen. If I were to say ‘I hope that the firefighters can get us out soon’ it won't mean that the world changes because I said anything.” Brennan explained as she crossed the elevator, bumping into Sweets on the way as she pressed the emergency call button.

“Don't jinx us anymore, enough of the jinxing, it's bad enough as is that I’m stuck with a shrink in a dark room.” Booth pointed an accusatory finger at who he assumed was Brennan, but it was hard to tell with minimal lights.  
  
“Hey!” Sweets said, crossing his arms only to earn an eye roll from Booth as the man slumped down onto the floor with a sigh, soon followed by Sweets who also sat down on the dark, carpeted floor and finally Brennan.

“This gives me the creeps.” Sweets admitted.

“The creeps are not--” Brennan started only to look over and see Sweets giving her a strange look that was hardly illuminated by their only light source.

“Have you ever been spooked before? C’mon Bones, this is a perfect time for campfire stories, just the three of us trapped in an elevator.” Booth reached over to punch Bones on the shoulder; she recoiled slightly before dusting off her coat.

“No, this is not the time for campfire stories, Booth, we are waiting to be rescued, not to mention the traditional campfire story requires an actual fire which we do not currently have in our possession.” She said, her tone was cold, much quicker than usual.

“Dr. Brennan, I hate to get shrinky on a Friday afternoon, but that was you lashing out, you’re suppressing something.” Sweets accused.

“Psychology is a soft science, Sweets, though you have a brilliant mind I will have you know your theories aren’t legitimate and based on guesswork.” She looked blankly at the floor when she spoke.

“You’re deflecting.” Sweets said, eyes wide as he made his signature, soft smile “Feel free to open up to us, I won't get shrinky with you, talk to us, friends to a friend.” Sweets prompted, pulling out his phone and tapping the buttons a few times.

“Here.” He put his phone in the middle of the elevator, on the screen was a picture of a delightfully happy-looking Sweets sitting by what Brennan and Booth could only imagine were his parents, the ones that had passed near the time Sweets joined the Fbi as a profiler and psychologist.

“See that, Bones? We got ourselves a fire and some friends; I believe we’ve got the requirements for a little campfire story, so, what spooked the great Dr. B the most?” Booth rubbed his hands together eagerly, waiting for a good Ol’ fashion ghost story, before realizing that this was Dr. Brennan and the story would most likely be her stating something seemed supernatural before she went through and explained the science behind the occurrences.

What Booth and Sweets did not expect, however, were to see soft tears rolling down the eyes of the anthropologist.She had a grim look on her face.

“I was scared when my parents left Russ and me.” She looked directly at the picture of Sweets and his parents before looking up to see the illuminated faces of her colleagues, no, friends. Sweets carried a sympathetic look while Booth seemed more shocked at the confession.

“And now, I know my parents were… Criminals. I am scared by the thought of what I could have been.” Brennan held her head low and held up a hand to wipe a tear from her cheek; she couldn’t quite understand why the sudden onslaught of emotions had attacked her in this way, possibly hormones, she assumed it was hormones.

“You are afraid that you could have been a criminal like Max.” Sweets nodded in an understanding manner

“Yes. It's a completely ridiculous thought, even as a child I had morals, but despite my grasp of moral concepts my frontal lobe was not developed enough to be making moral decisions and I could have easily been tricked into a lifestyle of robbery and crime. The past cannot change, there is no possible scientific way of me knowing exactly what I could have become. It is… Quite complicated” She laughed, inhaling through her nose with a stuffed-up snort from crying, she wiped her eyes again, careful not to smudge her most-likely already-smudged makeup.

“I understand, Temperance, its alright to be upset about these things, no matter how ridiculous.” Sweets spoke in a calm tone; he never called people by their first names, this was special, he was reaching out to her with the knowledge that he has let himself exposed with the thought that he knows what she is feeling.

“No, It's not right, I’m a scientist, I shouldn’t dwell on these useless emotions and thoughts of the past,” Brennan argued, growing stubborn.

“Bones, look, even if that’s just some mumbo-jumbo what-if scenario--well--look--uh--you’re the smartest person You’re a genius, a smart genius, a genius among geniuses--”

“You are telling me things I am quite aware of, yes.” She nodded.

“I want you to know that the past is scary, we’re all haunted by the past in this hunky-bunky elevator squad. The past is awful but it’s a part of us, no matter how scary, it's alright to be ashamed of what you could’ve become or what you could’ve done, life is full of ‘I would if I could’ moments.” Booth reached over to tap Brennan on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Booth, Sweets.” Brennan smiled, letting out the last of her sniffles and tears as she leaned up against the side of the elevator and laughed, Sweets joined and so did Booth, laughing about nothing in particular.

“Man, this is a doozy, looks like you did jinx us, Bones, we’re still stuck in here!” Booth chuckled, throwing his arms up in the air and earning a snort from Sweets.

On cue, the elevator began to move again, and there was a collective cheer between the three as Sweets grabbed his phone from the floor and they all migrated in for a laugh-filled group hug. The elevator door dinged, and they all exited with enormous smiles on their faces.

“See you on Monday!” Sweets called as they reached the parking lot.

“Aren’t you a bit too young to be driving?” Booth jokes, earning another laugh from Dr. Brennan and a slight half-assed smile from Sweets as the young psychologist got into his car, leaving Brennan and Booth in the parking lot.

“Have a nice weekend, Bones.” Booth made a soft, sweet smile. “Maybe next time we get caught in an elevator I’ll tell you about the time I saw a ghost!”

“What! That’s ridiculous, Booth, ghosts don’t exist, I thought the only ghost you believed in was the myth of the holy ghost!” Brennan argued, “There is a scientific explanation for any ghost video, story, and idea.”

“Alright, Bones, suit yourself! If ghost stories aren’t your thing, we’ll hear about the horrors of Sweets’ fear of the dark!” Booth said, crawling into his car and twisting his key into place.

“Have a good weekend!” Booth roared, rolling down the window as he drove off.

“You too, Booth, you too.”


	2. Zack Addy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No real spoilers in this chapter! 
> 
> TW: Sensory overloads

 

The lab was usually a quiet place, besides the general hustle and bustle of the squints and the occasional boom of one of Hodgins’ experiments. 

 

Tonight they were examining a set of remains found in a run-down butchery, the man had been restrained by handcuffs and suffered severe fractures to the ulna, metacarpals, and the mandible had been dislocated from a ball gag. Cause of death was currently unknown; it seemed as if the burns the victim suffered were post-mortem, but the other injuries were too small to have killed them. Not to mention Cam’s talk screen showed that the victim had been fed, they couldn’t have died from poisons, gasses or malnourishment or dehydration, the only thing they had left was the explosion. 

 

“Zack, no time to explain, I’ve done some calculations for the explosion that could kill our victim, and I’ve got a room set up to run an experiment to see if the force of the explosion would’ve been the cause of death.” Hodgins scanned his card through the scanner and walked up to examination bay where Zack was examining the bones in peace.

 

“Have you gotten a model of the bones?” Zack asked, turning away from the mess of burned, discolored bones set before him on the table.

 

“Yeah, and I used the spam we had leftover from our last experiment to see how burnt the body would become after the explosion.” Hodgins had his wide-smile, the one he had when he was ready for a new experiment, his thumbs were jittering wildly and his smile twitching. Some may say Hodgins was a bit of a mad scientist, but Zack saw it as the passion for his work.

 

Without another word, Zack and Hodgins crossed the lab, passing Cam on their way.

 

“Oh no, you two have that look on your faces.” Cam warned, “Did you--?”

 

“Cam, look, it’s important, Angela is sick today. We don’t have the technology master to re-create the explosion so…” Hodgins gestured over to Zack and then to the experiment room.

 

“So you built a bomb,” Cam spoke in disbelief, a nod from both the anthropologist and the entomologist followed.

 

Cam rolled her eyes and crossed her arms; she gestured to the room giving the boys their permission to go blow up the entire lab, Zack and Hodgins readily rushed off to look at their contraption.

 

“Alright, here you go Zack.” Hodgins handed the scruffy anthropologist a pair of goggles and earmuffs; they fit snugly around Zack’s head. They both stood behind a shield of plexiglass, Hodgins holding a detonator in his hand.

 

“Ready?” Hodgins mouthed, earning a simple no-words-spoken nod from the anthropologist. 

 

“Fire in the hole!” Hodgins pressed his thumb against the detonator button, and there was a loud beep from the detonated machine before the world seemingly went into slow-motion.

 

Zack Addy was used to explosions, he had performed many experiments with Hodgins in the past and assumed he had gotten used to the sound even with his oversensitive hearing. Zack knew he was frightened easily by loud noises and many-of-times he found himself hiding in the washroom in his home above Hodgins’ garage because he could hear the horrible sounds of construction that just made him anxious. Drills and bangs and thumps and sometimes even Hodgins’ loud cursing would keep him up, he wasn’t even all that close to the noise, but it seemed like he was right in the middle of it all sometimes.

 

But explosions never freaked him out.

 

There was the loud sound of shattering glass raining to the ground like tears of ice shards falling from the sky, breaking into millions of pieces, the sensation of heat was what Zack felt next, even before he registered what had happened. An uncomfortable blaze went up into his arms and to his head and rattled his skull like someone was drilling a hole in it. Not to mention the sound, the sound was possibly the worst of it all, the loud noise of a yell from Hodgins mixed with an explosion that was just a bit too big, it was like thousands of needles were stabbing into Zack Addy’s brain even with the earmuffs.

 

It was too loud. Too loud to be true, Zack would soon realize this was because he was not wearing the construction earmuffs but rather Hodgins’ headphones that the eager entomologist had grabbed by accident, these were not noise-canceling.

 

Next was the impact, the sharp jab through his spine as he was thrown through the air and found himself on the ground, severe pain shooting through his back like a bullet, like he had been thrown from a window. Except the damage wasn’t theoretically as wicked, it was his senses responding to him like he had been shot, warm static feelings sent dread and misery throughout his body and burned his hands with awful sensation. 

 

The siren came. Next, the awful blaring of the alarm sounding through the Jeffersonian as a safety mechanism, Zack knew it was part of the protocol, but it didn’t stop the surge of panic rising in his chest as his face grew red and eyes welled up with horrible wetness. 

 

Explosions never freaked him out, yet here he was losing all of his rational thought to a hurricane of panic and tidal waves of fear and sensation that burned him, burned him everywhere and dug deep into his chest and palms and the tips of his ears. His natural instinct was to curl into a fetal position with his hands rising to protect his ears from the sirens, footsteps, glass, and voices. It was too much at once.

 

“Zack--Zack look at me are you alright!?” He could make out the noise but not the words coming from Hodgins; it was just a mess of unintelligible noise and sound and color and whatever else Zack’s brain could process at the moment.

 

Suddenly Zack felt his ears burn more, his feelings sunk deeper as the headphones were removed. They were excellent in at least making the noise a little less unbearable, but now they were gone. Everything was exposed for just a moment, a moment that sent bullets of sweat down his face until thick, heavy-duty earmuffs were put around his head and blocked out the noise into nothing but muffled whispers. 

 

The blaring was gone, the explosion was gone, the shattering of glass was gone, but Zack Addy didn't know where he was. He didn't open his eyes, limiting visual work was all he was focussed on until there was a gentle, open palm on his shoulder that steadied his attention to whoever was touching him.

 

At first, he flinched back to the touch but soon slowly cracked his eyes open, which were far too blurry to see out of under the wetness of tears, then they caught three faces, one he could identify and two he couldn’t, one was enough right now.

 

Hodgins kneeled next to Zack, the entomologist's eye was swollen nearly shut, and there was a thick gash on his temple with had an ugly smear of red cascading down, he didn't seem to mind. Hodgins and Dr. Brennan were the only people who knew Zack Addy had Aspergers. He told them not because it was any secret if anybody had asked Zack would say to them, he knew he was smart enough not to be judged for it. He told Dr. Brennan when she hired him to alert her about possible occurrences that may arise from sensory stimulation; sensory overloads was one thing he briefed both of them on so they could understand what to do.

 

“Zackary Uriah Addy, do you know where you are?” He could make out Hodgins’ voice barely through the headphones; Zack shook his head no, he couldn’t figure out what had happened, only an explosion, just the immense searing pain, and anxiety.

 

“You’re in the Lab, the Jeffersonian institution, okay?” Hodgins said, soon there was a sensation in his burning, trembling hands caused Zack to make a thick inhale and pull away, curling himself into a deep ball.

 

“Don't want it, no I don't want it, m‘hands… hands, m’hands. Ears. God--No.” Zack spat out before his words started to fail him, just turning into profound, heavy breathing and a few sputtering words of nonsense. 

 

“Alright, I won’t touch your hands, can I hug you? Do you want a hug?”  Hodgins offered. He had provided hugs to soothe Zack through the boiling sensations of a sensory overload once in the past when Addy confronted Zack at midnight to tell him to cease his work for the night. The thundering noises of renovation sent him into a state of panic and distress; Zack was lucky Hodgins knew how to help in that situations.

 

Zack shook his head. No, no touch right now.

 

“Cam, turn off the lights please,” Hodgins ordered. Usually, Cam would argue with Hodgins being this bossy, but this situation called for Jack to be calling the shots around the lab.

 

The light was generously dimmed, Zack made a slow sigh of relief, and his eyes were able to open fully, there was still a blur from the welling of tears that built up in his eyes, soon they spilled down his cheek and stung when touching an open wound on his cheek.

 

“There, we see you, I see you.” Hodgins said, “Do you know who I am?”

 

Zack made a careful nod and Hodgins nodded right back, a slow and readable motion that Zack could understand at the moment.

 

“Do you know who this is?” Hodgins pointed to a figure who Zack now noticed was Dr. Brennan; she had been silent throughout the situation, letting Hodgins handle this even if she theoretically knew what to do.

 

Zack took a moment, hesitated, he made out Brennan’s facial features and nodded, things were starting to calm down, the lack of light was welcomed by the young anthropologist as well as the earmuffs.

 

“How do you feel Zack? Scale of one to ten, one being perfectly fine and ten being you feel like death has washed over you.” Hodgins asked, seeing the young man tilt his head low and consider stuff for a moment, Hodgins supposed he should take the question back as he feared it was too much for the boy to comprehend at the moment.

 

He held up six fingers; he kept them held up for a moment and then changed it to five, signaling that he was starting to feel better.

 

“Okay Zack, can you talk?” Hodgins was sitting cross-legged in front of Zack, seeing the scientist open his mouth only for a pained wheeze to escape, he then shook his head no with enough shame to make a kicked puppy look like the happiest thing in the world. 

 

“Would you like a hug now?” 

 

Zack nodded and felt hard, strong arms wrap around his waist, and a soft, circular motion repeat over and over on his back. He leaned into the touch as the horrible stinging sensations faded away to give a feeling of warmth and comfort. 

 

“Th’nks Dr. H’dgins,” Zack whispered, his voice beginning to return to its normal monotone voice as fear slowly slipped from his mind to be replaced with his regular reasoning and critical thinking. After minutes, Zack counted ten, but it could have been eleven, he pulled out of the soft embrace and blinked around, gently removing his earmuffs and getting to his feet after a slight stumble. He felt Hodgins steady him with hands gently placed around his waist.

 

“Dr. Addy, you will be taking the day off, get Hodgins to drive you home.” Brennan insisted, Zack would usually argue but the words didn’t come to him, he only nodded.

 

Soon he was escorted out of the building with help from Hodgins; the two sat in his tiny antique car in silence as Hodgins inserted the key and drove them out of the driveway. On their way Zack caught himself glancing at Jack.

 

“I apologize Dr. Hodgins for taking time out of your day to--” he was cut off by a downright horrifying glare from Hodgins.

 

“Can it, Zack-attack, you don't need to apologize, seriously dude, you were freaked out, and I was stupid and gave you the wrong ear protection, I’m glad you didn’t pull your hair out again like you did last time.” Hodgins made a mock-sigh in relief and made a gentle smile which Zack mimicked, he never understood smiling all that often, but it was, admittedly, beneficial when Hodgins smiled.

 

“I understand that you have a love for my hair with the amounts of times you have taken the time to braid it when watching Firefly, Dr. Hodgins.” Zack noticed a blush growing on the bug man's face.

 

“We’re not at work, just call me Hodgins.” He smoothly transitioned, keeping his eyes on the road, Zack swore he caught Hodgins whispering “I thought he was asleep, dammit.”

 

Once they reached their homes, Hodgins got himself out of the car and went over to open the door for Zack like he was some important figure, he received thanks from the young bone-enthusiast, and the two stood in the parking lot.

 

“Get some rest, Zackaroni.” Hodgins rested a hand on Zack’s shoulder, a gesture Zack read about, it symbolized care.

 

“I will, Hodge-Podge.” Zack returned with his hand-on-shoulder pat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can follow me on Instagram @TheBirdManLyss and Tumblr and Twitter @BirdManLyss, I am desperate for love and I would love to see new faces and see people check out my art, keep in mind I don't draw much content for Bones since I am juggling my love for this geeky TV show with my love for musicals, OCs and Hamilton stuff.


	3. Seeley Booth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for season 3 (In the form of Lance Sweets)

Booth has to admit; he has some select demons behind his back. The little sins that crawl through his spine and keep him awake at night. He swears one night he may be hung like an angel on a crucifix with his body erect and arms spread wide like the wings of an eagle for what he has committed in his life. He prays for God to give him his mercy and yet sometimes he feels as if he has anointed too much chaos for God to give forgiveness. He has spilled too much to know for sure if God will accept him into heaven with open arms or leave him to the tempest of seething fire in hell, he can't say that he doesn’t deserve the latter, not with his life.

Booth tends to try and remind himself that each bullet he fires is for a purpose. Each blood he sheds is to satisfy the bigger picture in this planet. There is a utilitarian charm when thinking about the lives taken in the 101st Airborne Division, the 75th Ranger Regiment, and in the Special Forces. His official kill count is fifty-one, the number is downright shocking sometimes, but this comes with the life of being a perfect sniper, that as well as gambling.

Booth is never one to admit he has a bit of a problem, he’d been gambling-free for years at this point, and it never crossed his mind ever to start again, if only life was that easy. There’s a whisper, an utter of a victim who was in a notorious gambling ring, the whisper sparks fire into agent Booth. Soon he’s in the ring once more, a table of green sits between him and other men betting their wealth in games of poker. 

Booth gets cocky; he never loses, he continues with the case. Booth questions them discreetly, keeps a cross close to his chest, a long necklace that sits near his heart, it's not enough to block the demons from flooding back in. 

“Agent Booth.” There’s a knock at the door and the round face of a smiling psychologist smiling at the ex-soldier with a nearly giddy expression, Booth barely makes eye-contact as he fiddles with a poker chip in his palm, feeling all the bumps and ridges that fill him with dopamine and a strange feeling of success. 

“Sweets,” Booth speaks in the usual tone he gives to the boy, like a father would give to a son, a father duck to a baby duck, Sweets never appreciated that at first but grew into it. Good kid.

“We caught the murderer.” Sweets walked into the agent’s office, sitting down on a seat and squinting at Booth, his glance shifted to his hand, and his mouth fell into a little ‘o’ position.

“See, you doubted me, Sweets, and now that the case is over!” Booth threw his arms up and behind his head in a lounging position “I am finished with gambling.”

Booth threw a convincing smirk at Sweets; the psychologist didn't buy it, he was glaring daggers at Agent Booth, concern in his face was apparent, so much so that Booth dropped the resting position and dropped the chip on the counter.

“Booth, you’re keeping yourself attached to that chip as a psychological link to gambling, if you were true--” Sweets assessed before Booth raised himself up out of the chair and dropped the chip in the garbage can, staring the psychologist in the eye in a try me sort of manner.

Sweets eyed the garbage can then Booth, an epiphany of emotions stood in front of him. As a psychologist, Lance was quick to point out his expression, the slight flinch of regret as the chip clunked against the crushed documents in the trash, like his dreams had been lit on fire by the sun. There was a shake in Booth’s hand; this isn’t something he can control, Booth had a need, no matter the therapy he wouldn't recover from this, much like no matter how much Lance wears to cover the hideous carved scars on his back they will never go away. Demons don't fade so quickly; blemishes like those don't heal, wounds heal.

Sweets stood with passion; he kept his expression calmed and controlled, seeing a cocky smile from Booth turn into a confused mess he looked at Booth head-to-toe. 

“Agent Booth, look, as a friend I understand that this is something difficult to go through, something from your past is returning to haunt you, and you’re having trouble letting go, this sudden loss of control is clouding your judgment. You need help.” Sweets said in a gentle, friendly voice; he kept his eyes trained on Booth’s fists which were balled up, shaking.

“Sweets, I told you, I’m done, I’m clean!” Booth threw his arms up, a sign of defeat that Lance could readily identify. Failure was not in Booth’s nature.

“You’re letting this beat you, Booth, I’m not buying it! I understand this stuff is difficult--” there was a rough flash of fire in Booth’s eyes, an epiphany of rage stood before Sweets, a fist colliding with the Psychologist's face.

Sweets were thrown back, without being in a proper stance his balance was lost. Blood bubbled up through Sweets’ nose as a steady stream flowed through his nose and drip, drip, dripped onto the floor, deep stains digging deep into the floorboards. Burning and raving, blazing like meteors was Booth’s rage, an onslaught of emotions, Lance had picked at the emotional scab, and the blood was seeping out.

“Sweets--” Booth stepped back in horror, his bruised fist lowering as he took note of his craftsmanship, a clean hit in the nose, breaking it for sure. There was a horrible bruise that went from the light peach of Lance’s skin to the deep red of Lance’s lips and was now showing signs of the same purple as Sweets’ tie.

“No, hang on, I’m okay Booth.” Sweets said after a moment of pure, shocked silence, he brought a hand to touch his nose and grunted at the pain that came from it “I deserved that.”

“No--” Sweets raised a hand before Booth could say anything else.

“Booth, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, it was an emotional outburst, I’ve dealt with worse, I’ve been shot, stabbed, whipped, this isn’t about me, Booth, I’m fine.” Sweets held up his hands to reassure his point.

“Booth, I’ve finished cataloging all the evidence are you--.” Brennan walked in to see the mess before here. Sweets were bracing himself against one of the chairs in Booth’s room, and Booth looked no better, a trembling, bruised fist that Brennan analyzed had caused the mark on the young psychologist’s face.

“Dr. Brennan, I know this looks bad, but I’m fine.” Sweets calmly said.

“You most certainly have a nasal fracture, Sweets; you are currently not fine.” Brennan corrected, she turned her attention to Booth “What is going on here?”

“Look, Bones, I didn’t mean to, Sweets was getting all shrinky and… I just punched him; I didn’t want to hurt him.” Booth threw his hands up in surrender, looking down at the floor in shame.

“Sweets, come with me, I’ll have someone look at your nose.” Brennan wrapped a protective arm around Lance, giving Booth a sympathetic look as she brought the bleeding psychologist out into the hallway. Booth rested his face in his hands, sighing deeply as he closed his eyes, a wave of nausea and a headache washed over him in a realization that this was a problem.

Booth had demons behind his back, but they were never supposed to hurt the people closest to him. It was this reason that he hid them so close to his heart, locked away so the world would not see him for the crimes he has committed against law and order of this world and the law of God and his kindness. His eyes trailed to the object that started this mess, a single chip in the trash can, it stared him down with such severe passion that Booth nearly had the nerve to pick it right up again and cradle it like he would Parker.

Instead, Booth looked away; this wouldn’t become a scar, this wouldn’t become yet another demon Booth has climbed on his back, not another deep tear in his heart. He wasn’t clean, this isn’t something that will go away overnight, but it won't last forever, it is a minor fracture that remodels, now the bone has been broken again and needs time to rebuild itself once more.

It seems like minutes, but in reality its hours before Booth finally looks up from his lonely disguise, the hands covering his face that are acting like a shield so he wouldn’t have to face what he has done, but when he does he is greeted with the look of Bones and Sweets.

“Sweets told me everything.” Bones spoke with her usual lack of tone, she pulled over a chair and sat down, prompting Sweets to do the same. “I want to help, Booth.” 

“There’s no helping someone like me, Bones; this is a wound my body will heal on its own.” Booth leaned back in his chair, looking at the ceiling.

“The ‘wound’ would heal much quicker with the aid of medical assistance.” Brennan gave Booth a cocky smile, Sweets leaned in and flicked Booth’s bobblehead.

“You could say that us, your friends, could be that medical assistance.” Sweets watched as Booth, nearly instantly, grabbed the bobblehead to stop it from bobbing, a habit Sweets was all too fond of seeing Booth repeat every time he touched that bobblehead. It was an instinct that Booth had.

“We all have wounds and scars, Booth, just let us help.” Bones said, her voice going from monotone to filled with emotion, curious eyes looking at Booth for a hint of acceptance. She wished only to help her partner through this.

Booth made a deep inhale, glancing towards the rubbish bin once more before looking back up at Bones and Sweets. He huffed out one last puff of breath, for just a moment the demons stopped carving into his back as he let out an uproar of chuckles.

“Alright, fine, but I owe Sweets a drink--wait no, he’s too young to drink.” Booth teased, standing up from his seat and cracking his fingers and joints as he ruffled the psychologist’s hair, something that Lance hated, he knew that.

“No, I’ll pay, Booth.” Sweets ignored the age comment as he stood up from the seat “I prompted you to punch me in the first place.”

“And if you keep arguing with me I’ll punch you again!” Booth threatened in a somewhat playful way, Sweets sighed and gave into the offer. 

Booth has demons behind his back. He’s not sure if he should be sent to the Tartarus of hell or be lifted to the comfort and peace in heaven, but he has them. God may not give him forgiveness for everything; he is not the only one who weighs forgiveness. The mercy of friends could seal the scars on his back, if not for a moment. That’s all that matters in the end, right?


	4. Jack Hodgins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for season six!

Having Michael-Vincent was quite the handful, Hodgins would never admit that he was exhausted. Michael never slept, he’d let Angela rest as much as she needed as he carried his newborn around the mansion just hoping for a minute of peace. He was a little miracle but also a little bit of a pain in the ass sometimes. A wholly royal pain in the ass just like Hodgins was when he was a young lad, and some would even say he’s still quite the asshole, but what can you do when it's one of your main personality traits.

Early Monday morning, Hodgins had fallen asleep against the fridge and managed to curl up at the bottom of it with Michael-Vincent playfully puffing up his plentiful curls. He’d fallen fast asleep when doing another round around the house with Michael and before he knew it he was sleeping soundly as a dream of aliens taking over the government and saving the world from an apocalypse haunted his slumber.

“Sweetie, this is getting ridiculous.” Hodgins woke up to the feeling of his shoulder being shaken; he cracked open his eyes to see his beautiful wife staring him down with a concerned look. 

“Hey, Angie.” Hodgins leaned in to place a gentle kiss on his wife’s soft lips, Angela sadly pulled away before he could get too into it. Instead, he slowly sat himself up and leaned his back against the fridge, yawning loudly as he waited for the sudden onslaught of a headache to fade away.

“Jack, you haven’t slept in four weeks, you look awful.” Angela put her hands on her hips, Hodgins could spot Michael-Vincent behind her playfully clapping his hands as he sat in his high-chair. Hodgins slowly pushed himself off the floor to meet his wife’s eyes.

“Angie, look at me-” He yawned, which was not helping his case “-I’m fine, It’s just Michael isn’t getting any sleep, and I don’t want you to be all stressed out, you just gave birth to him.”

“You’re saying that like it happened two minutes ago, Jack, we’ve had Michael for five weeks, I’m doing alright concerning me ‘just giving birth’ save for a bit of weight gain.” Angela glared down her husband, seeing the sheepish blush crawl up his face as he made a tired giggle, it was apparent he was exhausted as seconds later he was falling back asleep in Angela’s arms.

Angela was about to put her husband into bed (like some toddler) before both her own and her husband’s phones rang at once which could only mean one thing, of course there just had to be a case right now.

“Hodgins, Sweetie, we have work.” She shook her sleeping husband awake, much to his dismay, he looked awful and let out a long groan.

“I’ll drop Michael-Vincent off at daycare while you get ready, I’ll brew you a coffee on my way out.” Angela sighed, not bothering to make the bed as she grabbed her purse from the doorknob and made way for the kitchen where their son was still happily giggling away on his high-chair.

After five minutes of no Angela, Hodgins dragged himself up and to the closet, not bothering to look too formal he just threw on a shirt he usually wore to the gym. A desaturated blue t-shirt that he covered up with a pullover black sweater and he finished his outfit off with a little pin he kept on his bedside table that read “the truth is out there.”

By the time he made it down to the kitchen he was sure he’d fallen asleep at least four times from his little power-nap on the stairs to a quick stop to rest his head against the doorframe to the kitchen, but thankfully Angela wasn’t lying when she said she had made him coffee. Now, Hodgins didn’t honestly believe in the Christian God, but he did believe in Angela Montenegro-Hodgins, that's for sure.

After downing the coffee in one go he found himself pouring another, that's around when he checked his phone to get a leg up on what to expect, a victim was found at a campsite which would mean lots and lots of fun bugs with whom he could play with. Usually Hodgins would be bouncing off the walls at this point thinking about all the insects in the area, but for now, he was more focused on getting rid of his god awful pounding headache. Seems that weeks without sleep aren’t that good for your body.

“Hey, Jack, Vincent is at daycare, you ready to go?” Angela asked, walking into Hodgins’ line of sight for a moment, her husband just looked exhausted but mighty happy, a soft smile on his face as he allowed his wife to lead him out to the car, it was obvious that Hodgins would not be driving right now.

He was asleep for the entire drive to the murder scene, and it wasn’t until he was in his Jeffersonian jumpsuit that he was starting to feel the exhaustion fade away before he stood a gruesome scene. Blood smeared through the trees, and a body that had been stretched into an unnatural position by some twine stood before him and the other squints. Of course, Hodgins wasn’t the bone boy; he was the bug boy.

The victim had been here for three days according to the blowfly larvae, besides that Hodgins had found himself stuck with a multitude of little chubby critters stuffed with human flesh and with a beautiful snake that Hodgins treated with great care when getting it inside its cage. 

Once he had returned to the lab the day went by as normally as being someone who investigates bugs and murder could be. He spent the day examining his insects and unfortunately, blending them for a talkscreen and by the end of the day (and by the end of seventeen coffees) Hodgins had identified where the murder took place, and the suspect was beginning to close in on an old man related to the victim. One who had a history of assault with a deadly weapon and theft.

“Hodgins.” Angela crossed the room and made her way to her Husband who was busy feeding his new snake, who was going to be released back into the wild as he had coughed up the victim’s missing finger after a little trick Hodgins pulled.

“Hey Angie, I’m just feeding Future then I can go pick up Michael-Vincent with you.” Hodgins sipped a bit of his coffee as he closed Future’s cage and stood up, dusting off his lab coat and repeatedly blinking as he woke himself up, not used to being up out of his chair. 

“Michael-Vincent is getting babysat by Sweets tonight; I thought that you could use a night off.” Angela smiled, out of her pocket she drew two tickets from her pocket reading “Primer.” Hodgins had been raving on about attending an indie theatre near Angela which was showing off many small feature-films made by upcoming film directors. Angela examined the shocked expression on her husband’s face as he started chuckling weakly in shock.

“Angie, you didn’t need to.” Hodgins was laughing now as Angela began to lead him out of his office, they waved goodbye to Cam on their way out.

“I did, you’ve been slaving away at taking care of Michael-Vincent, and I know how much you’ve wanted to look at some of these indie films and so I caved.” Angela shrugged as they made their way out into Hodgins’ retro car, Angela took the wheel while Hodgins sat in the passenger’s seat.

“Wow… Wow, Angie, you’re the best, seriously.” Hodgins had a dopey grin on his face as he took the last slurp of his large coffee and leaned back into his seat.

One viewing of an incredible Shane Carruth film later, Hodgins found himself curled up next to Angela on their large couch, they had picked up on watching Firefly. Hodgins resisted when it came to watching the show as he feared the memories of Zack would be too much to handle. The nights where they would hang out and Zack would eat a big container of macaroni while commentating as they watched their reruns, but eventually, he caved after a conversation with Zack from inside the walls of the mental institution. 

“Sweetie, can I ask you something?” Angela asked, the sound of the show playing faintly in the background, she looked down to see her husbands reaction only to see he had dozed off into a deep slumber, small snores escaping his mouth.

“Nevermind.” She smiled, rubbing a hand through his hair as Firefly ran in the background. Angela was sure next morning he would wake up nice and refreshed to see an exhausted Sweets, and they could have their conversation then, but for now, she just let him doze off into dreamland.


	5. Lance Sweets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for Season 3 (in the form of the title character) and big spoiler for season seven in paragraph 27, if you don't want the spoiler just skip that paragraph, I added an extra one right after for this very reason. :)

Sweets didn’t know how long he’d been sitting in his office, fiddling with a stress ball he kept in his pocket. He spent time playing with the little green and purple ball, playing with the stretchy plastic strings and twirling them around and nearly breaking it. He’d been at it for hours, between working away on profiles for the recent case and meeting with patients who at least kept him grounded for a little bit. 

Sweets had gotten the call in the early morning; his foster father had been let out of jail after his sentence was over and had now been put on house arrest, not only that but there was a restraining order stating that Lance Sweets would not come into any contact with that man. He was safe; Sweets knew he was safe, so why was he so scared?

Grief is something that’s hard to cope with, especially when its been with you for so long. Lance of all people should be the one to identify that he wasn’t getting over it. His tactic of bottling everything up, in theory, sounded effective but in execution its done nothing but stall the grief from surfacing and surging in like a tidal wave. 

“Sweets, you got that profile for me?” Booth knocked twice on the psychologist’s open door, stepping in without a further invitation. He saw the young man snap into consciousness with a little flinch.

“Agent Booth--” Sweets dropped the stress ball and directed his attention to the absolute mess on his desk, different files and books stacked up messily, files of patients and the victims and of course, the record of the possible murderer for this case. 

Sweets quickly snatched the file from his desk and stood up, handing it to the older agent with a plastered on smile, the agent raised an eyebrow and snatched the folder from Sweets’ hand.

“Are you going to indulge me in any information about the killer?” Booth asked, waving the hand with the file in it slightly as he watched Sweets space out for a moment. Booth shook his hand in front of Sweets’ face, trying to snap him out of his trance.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, of course. So, the killer is most likely very coordinated; they work on a rigorous schedule, not only for murder. You can tell by the perfection of the cuts on the victim’s body that this killer was very precise, perfect for every action.” Sweets felt the words spilling from his mouth with no real feeling or emotion behind them.

“Alright Sweets, OCD, I got it.” Booth reached out and put an open palm on Sweets’ shoulder, tapping it twice. He saw the young man’s face flicker into a smile, just slightly before it twisted into a jaded, emotionless frown.

“Everything alright, Sweets?” Booth took his hand off of Sweets’ shoulder; he saw Sweets light up with a smile that looked convincing enough.

“Oh yeah, just exhausted, a lot of work, y’know?” Sweets sheepishly put his hands in his pocket, rocking back and forth on his heels, he saw Booth give him a nod, unconvinced, but he was lucky that the agent let it go for now and leave him alone.

Once the slam of the door had faded into nothingness, Sweets fell back into his chair with a loud puffy sigh, grabbing his stress ball and fading out into a reality of static.

Sweets woke up to the sound of a file being slammed on his desk, Sweets lept into the air, the stress ball flying from his hands as he blinked his eyes open to see Caroline staring him down with a disappointed look.

“Listen, Cheri; I don't need to be a psychologist to see that you’re in a little pit of despair. I don't know what kind of fancy stuff is happening in your life Sweetums, but this is not the baby-faced shrink I know speaking in this here file.” Caroline tapped her finger on the file now on the table; it had been the one he wrote about the killer.

“Cheri if I presented this to someone as evidence I would lose my job, and you bet your pretty ass I’d drag you right down with me if that happened.” Caroline lectured, looking at the young psychologist stare at the floor silently, a frown plastered on his face.

“Oh don’t give me that Sweetie-bird.” Caroline put a hand on her hip “What’s got you so depressed?” She took no time to sit down on the chair across from Sweets’ she saw the young man cautiously sit down in his comfy looking chair, he sighed and reached into his coat and pulled out his phone, he pressed a button and set it down on the table.

Caroline sat in silence, an old friend of the psychologist, his former social worker spoke in a gentle voice in the voicemail. She was explaining to him that his abusive foster father had been let out of prison. She spoke with concern, asking Lance to call her back if he needed anything before hanging up with a cheerful “I hope to see you soon, Lance.”

Caroline watched as Sweets reached out and gingerly picked his phone up, stuffing it back into his pocket, he cracked a smile at Caroline who sighed and leaned back in the chair, giving the boy a concerned look.

“Cheri, that man is under house arrest, and he isn’t legally allowed to lay another hand on your pretty face,” Caroline spoke in a surprisingly gentle voice, it still kept her usual edge, but it was quite comforting. She saw Sweets look down, reaching onto the floor to grab the stress ball he had dropped. 

“You’re giving me that look, Cheri, like you’ve committed the worst possible error, you’re letting that man get into your head.” Caroline shook her head, not in a disapproving way but more in a strangely calm and comforting way. 

“It’s super stupid; I’m a psychologist yet I… I totally suck at my job, I can’t even get a profile on a murderer right because I can’t get over past trauma, and so I begin regressing into a state of silence like I did when they first put him in jail. I’m in a cycle, and I thought I was over it.” Sweets whispered, putting his face into his hands, he didn't start to cry, but by god, Caroline swore he saw Sweets flinch slightly when he curled up, he was scared. Caroline tilted her head with a scoff.

“No, you’re not in a cycle.” Caroline harshly corrected “None of this is your fault Sweetums, look, I don't know what that devil’s spawn did to you or your pretty face when you were even more of a baby then you are now, but you are not stupid Dr. Lance Sweets.” She pulled the doctor card, smart. 

“I can’t even get a profile right, Caroline.” Sweets uttered.

“Yes you can, you don't think you can. For a psychologist, you need to learn to get some better self-care tactics instead of sitting alone and sulking, Cheri. Now look at me, Shrink, you aren’t stupid, you’re the only shrink I’d ever dare talking to, I’m surprised I haven’t punched you as Booth did already like I consider doing to most people like you. You’re smart, Cheri, even if you look like a baby you got the brains of any of those shrinks in their lab, and I’m not going to let some low-life child abuser take that away from you.” Caroline lectured, standing up from her seat, she looked down at Sweets who said nothing, his head still rested in his hands.

“Cheri, I’ve been scared too.” Caroline saw Sweets flinch and peek out of his hands for a moment, curiosity in his eyes; he did look like a curious child who wanted to know everything he could, it was cute in a strange way how eager he looked. 

“Cheri. I’m terrified that one day I’ll wake up and every one of you squints, shrinks and agents will be dead and deadbeat. I’ve been paranoid that crazy hackers like Pelant have been watching me and all of you when you slept when Angela and Hodgins woke up with that body in their room and that man touched their child I was so scared of what could have happened to them and myself.” Caroline confessed she had a small stream of tears flowing freely down her eyes.

“Truth be told, I don’t know what I’d do without you guys. I’ve sat idly while Booth goes out and gets his pretty face shot at and when you go out and get your scrawny self into trouble or when a suspect gets a bit too touchy-feely and tries to hurt you guys. I hate to admit it, but you guys have left a mark on me.” Caroline wiped a tear from her eyes and looked down at Sweets; he was messing around idly with his stress ball, he opened up his mouth to say something only to be cut off by Agent Booth stepping into the room.

“Hey Caroline” Booth stepped past the crying woman, not even noticing the look of shock on her face as he completely didn’t miss the open emotional conversation they were having. “Sweets, up and at ‘em, we’ve got a suspect in.” Booth reached out and ruffled the psychologist’s curly hair, watching Sweets give him a confused look, he then focussed his gaze on Caroline for help. 

“Can it, Cherie, get one of your squints to come with you, Sweetie bird’s done for the day.” Caroline watched as Booth turned around to face her with confusion only to be startled by the tears in Caroline’s eyes.

“Caroline--what's going on, hey, Sweets, is something up?” Booth turned to face the psychologist who was giving Caroline a shocked look. He then watched as Caroline escorted the agent out of Sweets’ office, giving Lance the time to grab his stress ball and put it on his table, he picked up the files on his desk to read over when he was home and grabbed his keys as well.

Lance shuffled past Caroline and Booth in the hall. Booth gave him a concerned look as he made his way out of the building and to his little car parked out front. He drove slowly on the way home, the only noise coming from the death metal music playing on his speakers, he liked listening to it on a bad day.

When he was home the first thing he did was collapse on his couch and turn on his PlayStation, playing through his fair share of Shadow of the Colossus with a bottle of pomegranate juice poured in a glass on the table that he sipped from every so often. It was well into the night, around seven, when there was a knock at the door. Sweets instantly flicked the pause button and stood himself up, shaking off the blanket that he threw on himself earlier as he opened the door to see none other than agent Booth, Dr. Brennan, Hodgins, and Fisher.

“I like this look, Sweets.” Hodgins made a cheeky grin as he pointed out Sweets’ outfit, after a while of playing he had made up some instant noodles, and while waiting for the microwave to finish he got himself into a Star Wars t-shirt and some baggy sweatpants, Sweets looked himself over with a nervous look.

“I always assumed Sweets just wore suits even to bed,” Fisher muttered.

“What’s going on?” Sweets asked, looking up at his co-workers (who he would call his friends) as Booth suddenly pulled something out of his pocket.

“What--Booth, woah.” Sweets snatched a ticket from Booth’s hand “Avengers?! I’ve wanted to see this for a while, why did you-” Sweets paused, his eyes suddenly went wide. Caroline.

“C’mon, Sweets, the show starts in ten minutes.” Booth encouraged, gesturing at Sweets to get dressed in something other than a Star Wars t-shirt, as he ran off he could hardly hear Dr. Brennan and Booth bickering in the background.

“Actually, The show starts in twenty minutes, the commercials and trailers will take at least ten minutes, so he has plenty of time.”

“The trailers are the best part, Bones!” Booth argued, punching his partner in the shoulder.

“If trailers only show the best parts of the movie why watch the movie at all?” Fisher muttered cryptically as Sweets rushed back to the door wearing a poorly thrown on plaid t-shirt. The bickering continued all the way to the car. Sweets had forgotten entirely about his foster father, he forgot about the stinging of the past on his back and the scars that sit there, he thought about Caroline and the lengthy discussion he would have with her the next day as he added his commentary to the commercials vs. no commercials debate.


	6. Vincent Nigel Murray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry this one took so long, I've been a bit distracted and really meant to get back to this. I'm running out of ideas for each character! If you have any requests please, please, I would love to hear them as I hate slowing down on a story like I have with others. :)

One might say Vincent’s brain was stuffed with endless facts, endless thoughts and ideas and memories. Clouded with too many little details and facts to comprehend was another way to explain that pool of opinions. But if you were to ask he would describe it more as a wave of knowledge that he steadily swam with, keeping in rhythm with the flow of his ideas. 

Every so often that stream’s current will grow too loud, too violent to deal with, storms of ideas surge and thrash in the air. Of course, the fact that pops to mind whenever he thinks about this surge always correlated to something along the lines of “3.3 million American adults have a type of panic disorder.” 

Yes, Vincent had been diagnosed with anxiety, and while his vigorous ticking and fidgeting mixed with an occasional splash of Xanax, sometimes it took over. 

“Mister Nigel-Murray are you paying attention?” Brennan asked, snapping Vincent out of a quick daze and caught him back to work, he raised his hands up in the air and looked innocently at Dr. Brennan.

“Yes Dr. Brennan, of course, the fracturing on the mandible seems to be from a sharp blow that pierced through the mandible into the skull.” Vincent analyzed, he found himself swimming in his mind, waiting to grasp a fact relating to this information he’s provided before he could see it he found himself de-railed by Brennan.

“I disagree.” Brennan muttered, she held a measuring stick next to the skull and near the mandible “The fracture on the skull doesn’t line up with the fracture on the jaw, I believe that these were both caused by different strikes with the same object.” 

With that, Vincent de-railed swept away in his thoughts and ideas that slowly turned into ones of panic.

“I’ll have Hodgins swab both wounds to check if they were made with the same weapon.” Brennan didn’t finish with her regular ‘excellent work Mister Nigel-Murray.’ There was silence

Vincent put his head into his hands, he raised them further and ran them through his hair until they were back at his sides, of course, that’s when he tried to figure his way again through the flow of facts, and getting them out was the best way to do that.

“Oranges were originally green.”

“The letter Q is not in the name of any US State.”

“Scotland’s language has over 420 words for snow, 421 to be precise.” 

“Peanuts aren’t nuts.”

“George Washington in fact, never cut down a cherry tree, and this was falsified by Americans.”

“The name of the fictional character Cap’n Crunch is Horatio Magellan Crunch.”

That was when, finally, Vincent felt a hand on his shoulder, he looked up to see his boss, Angela, and Hodgins staring at him. Hodgins had his arms crossed, and Angela looked quite distressed.

“Mr. Nigel Murray.” Cam watched as Vincent’s eyes quickly snapped over to look at Cam, he felt gross, disgusting, a burning feeling in his eyes as he blinked a few watery tears out of his eyes, oh.

“There are three types of tears, continuous also known as basal, reflex or irritant and psychogenic tears,” Vincent uttered, Angela walked over and Cam gracefully slid out of the way, she was not the best with emotions in the workplace.

“Sweetie, you were backed into the corner rambling nonsense, where is your Xanax, Vincent?” Angela asked, looking back at Hodgins who was ready to grab the said medicine once given directions.

“Locker, the code is 1976.” Vincent responded, making a deep swallowing noise, “Many children spray per--” Vincent hiccuped “perfume in their lockers, and the buildup of the trapped fumes slowly spreads more and more toxins into the air.” 

Hodgins promptly ran off through the lab off to the locker room, without hesitation he popped the lock open with the code Vincent provided. Through the pictures of Vincent’s family to a couple of union jacks and, adorable, an old antique looking stuffed bear holding the Xanax in his lap.

By the time Hodgins returned Vincent and Angela were sitting on the ground, and Angela was getting him to recite the periodic table, his breathing was unsteady and rough. Cam had mysteriously vanished, most likely to talk with Brennan.

“Here.” Hodgins moved to sit next to Angela, he handed the Xanax to Vincent and watched the boy take it with shaking hands, 

“Xanax and other benzodiazepines are responsible for 30% of prescription overdose deaths per year.” Vincent hiccuped.

“That’s dark.” Hodgins huffed, helping Vincent to his feet, he wobbled a bit and clung to Angela like a young boy so he wouldn’t fall.

“I’ll drive you home, alright? You’ll be okay buddy.” Hodgins put a firm hand on his back, patting it twice as he leads Vincent out of the building, he hung up his coat by the lockers and soon was lead out to Angela’s car where Angie sat in the back with him, Hodgins drove.

“Are panic attacks normal, Vince?” Hodgins asked, by the time Vincent was in the car he was starting to slow down, he had enough mental strength to engage in conversation, the flow of ideas slowing steadily.

“Yes, they are quite normal for people with Anxiety such as myself. I’ve had quite a few, and they are generally brought on when my train of thought is de-railed.” Vincent explained.

“So you spew facts to cope?” Angela asked a slick nod from the Brit followed as Hodgins pulled up to the driveway. 

Vincent missed Britain, that’s a fact, he lost the city air and the lovely sight of the crosswalks and the streetlamps. But, he had to admit, America had its perks. They filled his mind with more facts than he had ever felt in his life, each sight new and exciting. Not to mention the friends, each of them was kind, generous, unlike the stereotypes he had previously known about America.

“See you tomorrow, Vince’” Angela called the Brit led himself out of Angela’s car and shuffled up to his apartment building. He exhaustedly flopped out onto his soft couch once he returned to his home. He dozed off, slowly and soundly, his thoughts seemed comforting this time, not full of panic, not out to betray him.

Some might say Vincent’s thoughts were neverending; some could even say a curse. But if you were to ask he would describe it more as a wave of knowledge that he steadily swam with, keeping in rhythm with the flow of his ideas. He enjoyed their company despite their betrayal; he would never wish them away as even with their mess-ups and failures there would be others, family to help him.

**Author's Note:**

> Note - You can follow me on Instagram @TheBirdManLyss and Tumblr and Twitter @BirdManLyss, I am desperate for love and I would love to see new faces and see people check out my art, keep in mind I don't draw much content for Bones since I am juggling my love for this geeky TV show with my love for musicals, OCs and Hamilton stuff.


End file.
